Civil War
by I-Love-Canada55
Summary: Britain contemplates visiting America during what could be considered the most difficult thing to go through as a country.   Civil War.  It tears you apart, makes you hate yourself.  He hesitates...  But what if America really needs his help?


England hesitated at the door. He wondered if it were a good idea in the first place to visit America during such a horrible time. He sighed, and pulled his hand back.

No.

America was growing up. After his independance, England had hardley said 5 words to him. What would America think if he just showed up in the middle of a crisis like now?

He sighed again.

But what if he really needed help? Civil wars were never easy to deal with.

You hated yourself. It tore you apart, inside and out, and there was nothing that could help the country themselves but hope that their citizens would work it out soon.

England felt the worry growing inside of him.

"Oh, bloody screw it." He said, as he threw the door open. "America? Are you home?" He called through the house.

He didn't get a reply. He observed the house, as he walked through. Most everything was dusty, and old looking. Pictures were all over the house, him and his leaders, pictures from when he was little of he and Matthwe playing outside. England glanced into the kitchen. It didn't look like it had been used in ages.

What if it hadn't?

"America?" He called again.

No answer. He walked up the stairs, towords the room he knew was America's. He hesitated once again at the door. After a moment of thinking, he opened the door.

"Alfred?"

He stood and waited. He glanced around the room, and sighed. America was curled up on his bed. He appeared to be sleeping. England slowly walked over, approaching the younger nation.

"A-... Arthur?" He asked, weakly.

"Yes." England said, kneeling down next to the bed. "It's me..."

"It... Hurts..."

"Yes... I know it does..." He said, reaching out a hand to set in the others hair. "I know..." America clutched his hand, bringing it to his face. "How... How are you doing?" He asked hesitantly.

"It's horrible..." He muttered, shutting his eyes and coughing. "So horrible... Everything went wrong... So many people are dying... So many people are hurt... So many people enslaved..." He winced, biting his lip.

"Shh... It's alright. America... I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry I didn't come earlier..."

"Why... Why does it... Why do they..." He coughed, weakly. "What's wrong with me, England? I hate myself... I want to... To kill myself... Am I... Am I going to die?" He asked, in a small voice.

"No... Shhh..." England let his hand slip down to the other's cheek. "It'll be alright, America... I promise... Just... You can't let it get to you..."

"But it's hard..." he whispered. "England, I can't think strait... So many thoughts... I can't take it anymore..."

"Yes you can, America... I know you can..."England said, trying to be soothing.

"I can't!" He cried. "I can't take it anymore! It's impossible! Every second! It's like I'm two completly different people!" England reached over to him.

"Alfred, calm do-"

"No!" America yelled. He was crying now, tears streaming down his face. "I want to kill myself! Look!" He shoved his arm out. England gasped. Several cuts and bruises ran along his arms.

"America... I-"

"No! I give up!" He sobbed. Before England could grab him, America had lunged for the gun on his bedside table.

"ALFRED, NO!"

It had been close, but England had been able to grab the younger nations arm before he could do anything. The gun clattered to the floor.

"You bloody IDIOT!" England cried. "What the hell were you thinking! That was the dumbest, most ridiculous thing you have EVER done!" He opened his mouth to go on, unil he saw what America looked like. Frgile, and small, he seemed so young. "America..." The nation colapssed in sobs.

"I hate this..." He cried, dropping down on the bed. "I hate it so much... I-it's not fair..." He cried. "P-please, England... Kill me... Just... Kill me now..."

"America..." He murmured. He carefully laid down on the bed, next to the sobbing younger nation. "Oh, America..." He hugged his former colony, letting him cry into his shirt. "Shhh..." He mumbled, stroaking his blonde hair, holding him close.

"It's not fair..." He sobbed.

"Just calm down... It's okay... Shh... I've got you..."

"You can't leave me alone..." He sobbed, clutching his former caretaker.

"I won't." He promised. "It's alrigt. You're safe..."

Eventually, the younger nation cried himself to sleep, and even after passing out from exhaustion, he still looked just as fragile and hurt. England sighed.

His shirt was soaked.

He didn't move from his spot, where the normally so young and energetic blonde laid his head. He held him in his arms, now wishing more than ever that he never would have left.

Had he never left England, none of this ever would have happened.

He gently examined his slit wrists and his bruised forearms. He wanted to cry.

_My poor little America... Suffering all alone like this..._

He very carefully got up, and walked into the kitchen, where he located bandages and antiseptic.

After heading back upstairs to gently dab at the wounds and to wrap them up, he stood in front of the bed.

Small, innocent, crushed America. He looked only about 14, being drove to insanity by the war going on inside him. He carefully laid back down next to him, gathering his small body into his arms.

Had it been anyone else, he would have doubted that they'd make it out alive.

But this was America.

The America that he had raised from a child, the one who would crash through walls and blow up toys and push away anyone who thought any different.

This was _his _America.

He almost felt himself smile as Alfred mumbled his name in his sleep, probably in jumbled dreams of the past and present, and clutched his shirt with a fist.

England kissed his forehead.

"It'll be alright, I promise." He said, drawing the younger closer to him, and resting his chin on top of his head. "You can beat this... I know you can... You can, and you always will..." He felt the boy relax a bit, and burrow his head deeper into his shirt.

"...England..."

"You'll always be alright... Because I'm going to protect you..."


End file.
